


atlas

by kittenscully



Series: fictober 2020 [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post-Episode: s11e03 Plus One, Season/Series 11, The X-Files Revival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:07:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26758480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenscully/pseuds/kittenscully
Summary: Eighteen years ago, finding him like this, she would’ve settled herself on his lap, pressed her nose into his neck sleepily. Eight years ago, she would’ve pulled up a chair next to him, dozed off with her head on his shoulder.[fictober day 1]
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Series: fictober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949467
Comments: 4
Kudos: 127





	atlas

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Give me a minute or an hour."

“Mulder?”

The light footsteps are a shuffling whisper on the hardwood floor, and he smiles. Scully’s found her slippers, the ones he left by the stairs. He figures that her new place must have carpet, because she’d never come back for them, or for the rugs she picked out for their house at antique stores over the years and carefully, painstakingly cleaned. 

Mulder looks towards the doorway, keeping his eyes down, spots the soft brown leather of the moccasins. Ever since they’d taken their old jobs at the Bureau again, he’s been leaving them out for her. Just in case. 

He knows what she’s going to say, but it’s been so long that he still doesn’t quite expect it. 

“It’s late, Mulder.”

It’s phrased as if she’s chastising, but her voice is soft and raspy, just as unassuming as it had been the day she met him.

And maybe it’s the familiarity, the memory of years and years where she’d reminded him of the same thing. Maybe it’s the difference, the huskiness that’s grown in her voice more and more as she’s aged so prominent now. Maybe it’s simply the fact of finally having her here again, after so long away. 

Regardless, the statement makes his chest ache in a way it hasn’t in years. Not the painful kind of ache – that kind, he’s gotten to know all too well since Scully left. No, this is the good kind, the kind that feels long-awaited and comfortable. Like stretching out sore joints after hours of sitting in place, or sunburn on the first warm afternoon in May. 

He doesn’t know why he’s resistant to the idea of getting up. Except that he can’t stop staring at the case file, _their_ case file, open on the dining room table, gruesome crime scene photos strewn across the place where they’d eaten takeout five hours earlier. It’s not that the case is anything too special, just textbook electromagnetic disturbances paired with homicides in downtown D.C., but the fact that he’s investigating it with her has chased away every bit of tiredness he might’ve expected to feel at such a late hour.

Eighteen years ago, finding him like this, she would’ve settled herself on his lap, pressed her nose into his neck sleepily. Eight years ago, she would’ve pulled up a chair next to him, dozed off with her head on his shoulder. 

He’s learned to be patient with her, and he doesn’t resent her for any of the time she chose to spend apart from him. Still, he wants to see what she’ll do.

“Give me a minute,” Mulder says. “Or an hour.” 

There’s a sigh, and she wanders closer. He reaches for the autopsy report, brushes his thumb over her signature at the bottom. Glances again at the floor, this time finding her slippers beside his chair.

After their encounters in Virginia the previous week, he’d made the choice to remove them from their plastic bag, dust them off a little, set them in a more obvious spot. Cautiously, he’s been hoping that she might choose to stay on purpose, rather than passing out on the couch after a night of work. That she might share their bed with him instead of just a fold-out sofa at a hotel. 

Scully moves behind his chair, and two small hands rub gently over his shoulders. His breath catches, and he’s sure that she hears it, her smooth, cool palms sliding down to rest on his chest. 

And it’s been such a long time since he’s had this kind of intimacy with her. He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to exhale too loudly, scared of assuming something when he shouldn’t, of frightening her away. 

For all he knows their trysts had been just that – trysts, a one night stand in two parts to blow off steam. He can’t say that he didn’t seduce her on purpose, after all. And he could be alright with that, he thinks, could be alright with having her in any capacity, no matter how small or casual. Could learn to be just a hookup every once in awhile, if that’s what she wanted, though it would take some getting used to.

After all, she’s still the only one. 

“You know, for all the changes you’ve made, you’re still exactly the same in so many ways,” she tells him fondly. Her chest presses gently against his shoulder blades, and he can feel the vibration as she speaks, warm and familiar like a blanket. 

“Figure you must’ve liked me for some reason,” he replies, his throat feeling a little too full for the lighthearted tone he’d like to pull off. “I couldn’t go and change everything about myself. If I had, there wouldn’t have been anything for you to come home to.”

Her cheek rests gently against his head, and her forearms cross on his upper chest, enfolding him in a hug from behind. Mulder feels her take a shaky breath, and he reaches up, resting one of his hands on hers. 

“But there would’ve been you,” she murmurs. “Mulder, even if everything about you had changed, it still would’ve been you.” 

His stomach swoops, and he has to blink back tears, too choked up to respond. It’s so simple, just a few obvious sentences. But it feels as if she’s shown him an entire galaxy he’d never been able to prove existed, like redirecting a telescope just slightly and bringing entire constellations into focus. 

He’s sure that Scully feels it, the way his shoulders heave as he sucks in air, tries not to cry. He’s sure that she does, because she squeezes him a little tighter in response. 

The way that he loves her weighs on him steadily, eternally. Atlas carrying the sky, he thinks, vast and beautiful. Everything would be reduced to ash if he set it down, but it’s been so tiring to hold it up all alone, even though he’s learned how. 

“Scully,” he says, swallowing thickly. “Please come home.”

A tear escapes from the corner of his eye, makes its way down his face. Scully ducks lower, and presses her lips sweetly to his cheek, stopping the bead of moisture in its tracks. 

She doesn’t say no. 

“Come to bed,” she tells him, instead. And he does. 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic as well as the list the prompt comes from can be found on my tumblr @kittenscully.


End file.
